


the older we get, there’s an ocean of people in places we’ve chosen

by qirezade (orphan_account)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Car Accidents, Fluff and Angst, Hospitalization, M/M, i don't know how to tag things i've never done this b4, i just like hurting kuroken ok, imo it's not even too angsty it's just dramatic, this is pretty dialogue n thoughts-heavy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:54:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22961995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/qirezade
Summary: “Do you think love’s a choice? Or a feeling?”Kuroo’s question caught Kenma off guard. “What?”“Do you think that when you love someone, it’s a deliberate choice you’ve made,” Kuroo elaborates, “or something that you just happen to feel?”—In which Kenma’s brain refuses to give him a fucking break.
Relationships: Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 13
Kudos: 113





	the older we get, there’s an ocean of people in places we’ve chosen

**Author's Note:**

> “I didn't fall in love with you. I walked into love with you, with my eyes wide open, choosing to take every step along the way. I do believe in fate and destiny, but I also believe we are only fated to do the things that we'd choose anyway. And I’d choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I’d find you and I’d choose you.” ― Kiersten White / The Chaos of Stars

Kenma feels his heartbeat pounding through his entire body, splitting his skull apart. His eyes won’t open despite his efforts. There’s voices, but they’re far away, like he’s in an unreachable pocket of time and space. He lets himself drift back into unconsciousness.

* * *

  
Moments before, everything had been perfect. The sun was setting, and Kenma had complained about being too short to use the sun visor. Kuroo had then opted for the longer route; the one with the sun on the other side. 

  
“I don’t care that much,” Kenma said, watching the road as Kuroo switched lanes. “It’s just the sun.” 

  
“Nah, it’s good,” Kuroo replied, “I like the scenery better this way, anyway.” He turned the volume up on the radio. “More time for music, too.” 

  
Kuroo knew very well that Kenma was not a fan of his music taste. _Too many sappy songs,_ he said. Kuroo agreed, and explained that that was the point. Kenma didn’t mind right now, though. With the golden sun lighting up every corner of the world and Kuroo beside him, the love songs made _sense._

  
“This route is longer because of the traffic,” Kenma realised, wrinkling his nose. 

  
Kuroo laughed, “Yes. Correct.” His hands fidgeted at the steering wheel, and he looked over at Kenma. “Is spending extra time with me a problem?” 

  
“Always,” Kenma said, averting Kuroo’s gaze and instead choosing to focus on the cars in front of them. Kuroo shook his head and turned away. Kenma could see the smile on his lips without even looking. “Adding this to the running list of bad choices you make.” 

  
“Are you, now?” Kuroo said. “Do you also get Bad Choice Points for choosing to have me give you a ride then?” 

  
Kenma was quiet. “...No.” 

  
“Why not?” Kuroo whined. “No fair.” 

  
“I don’t get any,” Kenma said, “because.” He paused. A couple seconds went by as he thought of a reason. Kenma saw the world, dipped in the colours of the sunset, passing by through the corner of his eye. 

  
“Any day now,” Kuroo teases. 

  
“…Because I said so.” 

  
“Wow.” Kuroo laughs again, and Kenma glances at him. So much bigger than him, toned, and most definitely intimidating. But here he was, outlined by the colours of the late afternoon, smiling like an idiot at the most offhanded and lazy of jokes. 

  
They sat in silence, Kuroo mouthing along to the song that had played next. Kenma looked at the buildings disappearing as the car drove on. He didn’t care enough to make out the lyrics to the song, too busy avoiding staring at the boy next to him. 

  
“Do you think love’s a choice? Or a feeling?” 

  
Kuroo’s question caught Kenma off guard, and he didn’t respond for a moment. “What?” 

  
“Do you think that when you love someone, it’s a deliberate choice you’ve made,” Kuroo elaborates, “or something that you just happen to feel?” 

  
“Where’d that come from?” 

  
Kuroo shrugged, glancing at the side view mirror as they slowed to a stop at the line of cars. “We’re learning about dopamine in detail right now,” he looked over at Kenma, “so the topic of, like, the chemical basis of love came up. The professor didn’t really have a satisfactory answer, ’cause it falls under psychology and not chemistry, so... y’know.” 

  
Kenma looked back at Kuroo, and answered, “I have no idea.” Kuroo nodded, looking back at the traffic in front of them. “What do you think, Kuro?” 

  
“Hmm?” Kuroo cocked his head. “I think it’s a choice.” Kenma waited for him to explain. “I can’t really put it into words, but… it makes sense. To me, at least.” He didn’t have to clarify for Kenma to understand what he meant. 

  
Kenma’s mind flicked back to so many moons ago, when he’d first met Kuroo. Nothing in common when it came down to it. But they stuck together. Kenma, not a very social person—by choice, mind you—found it easy to stick to Kuroo. Kuroo, who made friends wherever he went, who was loud about his passions, whose laugh was infectious. But more than convenience, Kuroo had a presence that Kenma couldn't put into words. It was warm and light and free. 

  
All through high school, Kuroo was Kenma’s rock. Bad mood? Kuroo knew. He didn’t have to talk, Kuroo was there. And it went both ways. If he was pissed or upset, Kenma was the perfect low maintenance person to be around. He could complain all he liked, and Kenma would agree silently. The movie was always running in Kenma’s head. All the places they’d been together, all the people they’d met. All the stories kept between them—and anyway, there was nobody else Kenma would want to share them with. It was like their own pocket of time and space, elusive and untouchable.

  
The traffic light turned green and cars began moving. “I don’t want to go home yet,” Kenma whispered. 

  
Kuroo replied without missing a beat, “Do you want to go to the park?” 

  
Kenma smiled to himself, glad his hair hid his face. Kuroo always knew what he wanted to hear. “Sure,” Kenma said. 

  
And then the car flew backwards, and he heard Kuroo’s yell. There was the sound of glass shattering and red hot pain in his face and chest. In an instant, the world doused in gold went dark.

* * *

  
The first thing Kenma feels is how dry his mouth is. It’s like sandpaper, and his tongue feels too heavy. He sees light surrounding him through his eyelids. He forces his eyes open, immediately feeling nauseous. 

  
“Hi,” says a voice from above him. Kenma’s blurry vision clears at the edges until he can make out the face of a man hovering near the bed. He’s wearing scrubs, and Kenma realises where he is. “Can you speak?” 

  
Kenma struggles to open his mouth. “Dry,” he mumbles. The doctor understands, reaching to pour a glass of water. 

  
“Don’t sip too fast,” the doctor warns, “you might be feeling like you’re going to throw up right now.” 

  
Kenma nods tentatively and sits up. Immediately, heat floods his body and his stomach lurches. He lets out a small groan, wanting so badly to fall asleep again. 

  
“Yeah, you’re going to feel like that for a bit,” the doctor says, “but having some water will make you feel better. You’re dehydrated.” He hands Kenma the glass half full of water, and points to the boy’s hand. “Be careful, you have an IV in.” 

  
Kenma grips the glass with both hands, feeling as if it could slip at any moment. He takes a small sip. It’s lukewarm, but at least his mouth doesn’t feel like the Sahara anymore. He takes another sip. 

  
He wants to ask what happened, but his mind still feels foggy, so instead he chooses to focus on his surroundings. Fluorescent lights reveal the spacey hospital room, Kenma’s bed on one side of a curtain. At the foot of the bed is a tray of disgusting hospital food. Just thinking about eating makes Kenma want to hurl. He hands the glass back to the doctor, a newfound wave of nausea hitting him hard.

  
“How long have I been here?” Kenma asks after another moment of silence. 

  
“Well, it’s” —the doctor checks his watch— “about eleven P.M. now, so… about six hours? Seven?” 

  
Kenma doesn’t respond. He lies back down, and his stomach settles somewhat. He stares at the ceiling, now painfully aware of the throbbing in his chest. Questions swim through his head until he can’t help but ask some more. A renewed feeling of anxiety fills his already unstable stomach as his mind flicks to Kuroo.

  
“There was someone else, with me,” Kenma says, still staring at the ceiling. “Is he alright?” 

  
“Oh. Yes,” the doctor responds. “He was shifted to the ICU earlier.” 

  
Kenma feels his vision go fuzzy at the corners again. “What?” The questions in his head are spinning faster, leaving him dizzy and lightheaded. “Why? Is he going to be okay?” 

  
“He took more damage than you did,” the doctor says. “Emergency services said that it seemed like he’d thrown himself in front of you to shield you from the shattered windshield.” 

  
Kenma’s heart aches, his eyes glassing over with unwanted, uncharacteristic tears. He struggles to speak, “Can… can I see him?” 

  
“Not yet,” the doctor sighs. Kenma doesn’t respond. “I’m sorry, I know how confusing this must be.” 

  
Kenma nods slowly. “When can I see him?” 

  
“Once his condition is stable.” The doctor walks around the bed and pulls at the curtain to cover more. Following the doctor around with his eyes hurts Kenma’s head. “If we can stabilise it, we can take you there in a wheelchair.” 

  
If. _If_ they can stabilise his condition. Not _when_. Kenma looks down at his legs to see a cast on his right leg. “What happened to me?” he asks. 

  
“You’re going to be alright,” the doctor responds. “Your ribs are fractured and bruised, and there was glass in your leg. But things should be mostly alright in four to five weeks with care.” Kenma takes a deep breath in, wincing at the sharp stabbing pain. “Other than that, it’s just minor injuries that will heal within a week or two.” 

  
He doesn’t know what to say. “…Thank you.” 

  
The doctor is silent as Kenma’s gaze travels back to the ceiling lights. “He’ll be alright. We’re doing our best.” The doctor begins to leave, making his way to the door. 

  
“Um,” Kenma starts. “I need to… go to the bathroom.” 

  
“I’ll have someone sent to help you up.” The doctor leaves. 

  
A nurse enters a couple minutes later, and walks Kenma to the bathroom as he winces at the pressure on his leg. “Let me know if you need me.” Kenma nods.

  
Inside, Kenma takes a breath, trying to ignore his aching ribs. The queasiness had come back as soon as he had stood up, and he fends it off by thinking of something else, but… what else is there to think about? _Kuroo_? He splashes his face with water, not wanting to look in the mirror. He can tell his hair is a mess and he can feel bruises on the side of his face. He dries off his hands and face on a clean white towel and goes back to the hospital bed. 

  
“Sir,” says the nurse, “you have visitors.” 

  
Kenma _knows_ it isn’t Kuroo, it can’t be, he’s in the ICU for fuck’s sake, but he lets himself imagine for a moment. It’s probably his parents, worried. 

  
Indeed, it is, and they coddle him plenty. His mother grasps his hand and kisses his forehead at least a hundred times. His father’s eyes soften when he sees Kenma’s state, and this isn’t even the worst things could have been. 

  
“You were with Tetsurou, right?” his mom asks after pelleting him with questions about what the doctor said.

  
“Yeah,” Kenma says bitterly.

  
“Where is he?” his dad follows up.

  
“In the ICU. They haven’t told me how he is, or what’s wrong,” —his voice breaks— “just that his condition isn’t stable.”

  
Kenma’s dad looks at him with concern. “Do you want us to talk to the doctors and find out? I bet Tetsurou’s father would be coming down, or has already.” 

  
“He’s not in Tokyo,” Kenma responds. “I don’t know if the doctors have talked to him.”

  
“Hmm,” Kenma’s mom grimaces. “We’ll see, and let him know if he doesn’t.”

  
“When are you being let out?” Kenma’s dad asked.

  
“Uh. I don’t know.” Kenma looks up at the fluorescent hospital lights. “Forgot to ask.”

  
“That’s alright,” his mom says, “we’ll figure things out. Do you want us to give you a call when we’re done?”

  
Kenma looks over at the table beside his bed. “I don’t have my phone.” He frowns. “ _Shit_. My phone.”

  
Kenma’s mom scoffs, a fond look crossing her face. “You and your phone,” she says. “I’ll ask if it broke or something, or if they have it lying around.”

  
“I doubt it, but…” Kenma trails off. “Thank you.”

  
“We’ll let you know as soon as we find out about Kuroo.”

  
“Thank you,” Kenma repeats. His parents leave.

  
He doesn’t spend long forcing his brain to be devoid of all thoughts before he falls asleep.

* * *

  
“There’s a Hinata Shouyou here to see you,” a nurse says to Kenma from the other side of the curtain. Kenma’s bleary eyes open. He collects himself before clearing his throat and requesting to send him in. He’d expected him, he knew his parents would have told Hinata. “He shouldn’t stay long, though.”

  
“Kenma! Oh my God,” Hinata says, bounding in, energetic as ever. “What happened? Are you okay?”

  
Kenma can’t help but soften his gaze hearing Hinata’s questions.

  
“Uh. I mean, I’m doing alright.” Kenma shrugs. “I’ve... been better obviously, but... this isn’t as bad as things could have been.” He meets Hinata’s gaze. “Were you in Tokyo?”

  
“Yeah, actually,” Hinata says. “I’m really, really glad I was.”

  
Kenma smiles softly.

  
“How’s Kuroo? We haven’t heard from him. At all.”

  
Kenma’s heart clenches. He swallows, words stuck in his throat.

  
“Is he okay?”

  
Kenma shrugs. “He’s in the ICU, so. Make your bets on that one.”

  
“ _What?_ ” Hinata gasps. “What happened? Is he gonna be alright? Can we visit?”

  
“I don’t know, I don’t know, and not yet.” Kenma counts his questions as he answers. He starts to say something, and then stops. Hinata notices and waits. “I—I’m really worried, Shouyou.”

  
“I know.”

  
“He was dropping me off, and then I said I wanted to go the park, and maybe if I hadn’t—”

  
“Whoa, whoa, you know this isn’t your fault,” Hinata interjects, sensing where he was going with this. “You _know_ that. I know you do.”

  
Kenma shakes his head, his hair moving with him. “No. Yeah. I mean. Objectively, yeah.” He plays with his fingers. “I didn’t even... I didn’t even know I felt this way until right now.”

  
“I get that.”

  
Looking up at Hinata, Kenma continues, “I guess I don’t know what to think. Or expect. Or, even, like, fucking hope for.”

  
“The waiting sucks. I’m sorry.” Hinata sits down on the couch next to Kenma’s bed. “Is there anything I can do?”

  
Kenma shakes his head. “My parents are trying to find out more... Thanks, though.”

  
“Always.” Hinata, always so damn dependable. The best people in Kenma’s life tended to be. Hinata and him definitely had the oddest first encounter, though. He couldn’t help the interest that had flooded him when the boy had talked so excitedly about... well, anything. And it was that same constant excitement and optimism that was the reason for Hinata’s charm.

  
He’d always be passionate. And as someone extremely disillusioned by change, Kenma appreciated the consistency. His fondness for Hinata had been involuntary. The kid wasn’t really Kenma’s type for the most part (too bouncy), but he found himself wanting to be around him as often as possible. That was new. When it came down to it, Kenma was used to working on his relationships. Kuroo, for example. Kenma had made the effort to bear with the boy, and had grown to love him. But it had been a struggle at first, both of them worlds apart.

  
“I’m so scared,” Kenma admitted, looking down. “Everything was so sudden. The doctor told me Kuroo tried to keep the glass away from me. Must be why he suffered more damage.”

  
“Huh. Makes sense. He cares about you.”

  
“Yeah.” The silence in between wasn’t awkward. “Sometimes I wish he didn’t.”

  
Hinata looked confused. “How d’you mean?”

  
“He’s just. So…” Kenma struggles to find words that fit. “Focused? And practical. I feel so much more... _scattered_ compared to him.”

  
Hinata listens.

  
“And it’s not like an ‘I don’t deserve him’ type thing, no, but I feel like I drag him down to my level.” Kenma’s hands are moving as he talks now, more animated than his usual self. “Sometimes when we’re together it seems to me like I’m bringing him back down to his high school self. And maybe he wants to move past everything.”

  
“Hmm.” The other boy is thinking.

  
“Yeah.”

  
“...But isn’t it possible he _wants_ to be his high school self sometimes? Who doesn’t?”

  
Kenma had never thought of it that way.

  
“His high-school-self had you, had so much, was the captain of Nekoma, and—” Hinata’s eyes are glimmering. “Point is, he chooses to be around you, right? Kuroo would never do something he didn’t feel was right, you know that.”

  
That was true.

  
“So he must enjoy being his high school self.”

  
It was true that they had had each other in high school. Truly _had_ each other.

  
Kenma looks at Shouyou through the mess of hair obstructing his vision. “Thanks.”

  
“Always,” Hinata repeats. And Kenma knows he means it. He glances at the time on his phone. “I should be going.”

  
“Yeah.”

  
“Talk to me anytime you need, alright?”

  
“Alright.”

  
“I’ll see you again soon.”

  
Hinata leaves, and Kenma feels lighter.

  
Another day passes, and then two, filled with sleep and check-ins from various doctors on duty. His parents visit on the second day, ask him how he is, and let him know that Kuroo’s dad is coming in soon. Apparently, there’s been visiting and information privileges on a family-only basis. Kenma puts it out of his mind as best he can. Being upset isn’t going to solve anything, is it? He loses count of how many times he’s sighed in exasperation at himself. 

  
On the third day, the doctor steps in, a triumphant look on his face. “You can see him.”

  
Kenma feels his soul leave his body. In the best way possible.

  
“I can?”

  
“Yes,” the doctor says.

  
“...But?”

  
“No buts,” the doctor says. “I know you were worried, I promise this is good. We’ll take you in a wheelchair, of course, for your sake and the sake of the nurses’ time.”

  
Kenma doesn’t rejoice out loud. He’s just relieved. “When can I go?”

  
“Tonight. Or tomorrow if he doesn’t wake up around then.”

  
Kenma nods. “Thank you.” He sure has been saying that a lot recently. The next few hours involve keeping an eye on the clock. His PSP lies untouched on the bedside table. Playing games makes his head spin, so he resorts to thinking about the coursework he’ll have to catch up on. It was another unpleasant thing he’d been avoiding, but he was going home tomorrow. It was inevitable.

  
He looked up at the time again. Half an hour to go. _I wonder if he’s been asking about me too. Well. Probably,_ Kenma thinks. For the first time in the past three days, he lets his thoughts run wild. It feels like he’s breathing again after weeks of being underwater, but at the same time he’s suffocating. _I wonder how much pain he’s in. The doctor didn’t tell me when he was gonna be let off. I wonder. I wonder if his dad berated him for not keeping an eye out. It wasn’t his fault. The guy came out of nowhere, I think. We were just standing in line in traffic. What if Kuroo hadn’t chosen to take that different route because of the sun? We probably wouldn’t have been hit. I shouldn’t have complained. I wonder if he’s thought about that._

  
I wonder, I wonder, I wonder. Kenma wonders for the next who-knows-how-long. It feels like it has been days and time was still not passing. But when he looks at the clock, not even ten minutes have passed.

  
_To be fair, Kuroo_ wanted _to take the longer route. No reason to blame yourself for that._ Reasoning his emotional responses back to the realm of rationality has never been his strong suit. He’s always had Kuroo to help him with that. _But I wonder if I hadn’t let him drop me back home, would things be different? Would I have been in bed that night, messaging him while playing some mindless game instead of in hospice, fighting my concerns out of my mind? I shouldn’t have accepted his offer. That was the dumbest choice, why did I think that was a good idea? I could’ve taken the bus home, that had been my plan anyway, why did I let him go out of his way to take me home? No need to wonder. Things would have been okay right now if I’d said no. And now he’s stuck in the ICU because of me. God. Stupid._ Stupid. _Imagine fucking up worse than that._

  
Screwing his eyes shut, he stays that way for the next twenty minutes, silent. Time finally comes for Kenma to see Kuroo, and he’s wheeled out by a nurse he hasn’t seen before. Kuroo’s ward isn’t far. Kenma grits his teeth at the fading ache in his leg as the wheelchair wobbles. The door to Kuroo’s room has a temporary plate with his name on it, he must have it to himself. The door opens and Kenma scans the room for a familiar mop of dark hair.

  
Kuroo sees him first, catching his eye and smiling. Kenma feels like the hundreds of hands squeezing his heart have let go after way too long.

  
“Kuro,” he says, voice full of more emotion than he could ever remember having spoken with before.

  
“Kenma,” Kuroo responds with a grin, the most predictable shit ever, but Kenma’s heart still skips a beat. He’s never going to get used to that one, as much as he likes to pretend he has. “You alright?”

  
“Why the fuck would you be asking me that,” Kenma says as the nurse wheels him next to Kuroo’s bed and leaves the room, “when you're literally in the ICU yourself?”

  
“Were you not?”

  
He stares at the boy blankly. “…No?”

  
“Oh.” Kuroo shrugs. “They didn’t give me any answers when I asked about you, so… I kind of had no idea how you were?”

  
Kenma tries to imagine what it would have been like if he’d been given no information on Kuroo whatsoever while waiting. The light heartache is back for a moment. “I—I’m fine. You suffered the, uh, brunt of the damage.”

  
“I was worried, though,” Kuroo says, eyes soft and shining. “I don’t know what happened in the past three days, actually. I only really regained consciousness, like, half a day ago.”

  
“I don’t know what I—” Kenma’s voice is breaking again and he hates it with his entire being. Swallowing, he tries again. “I don’t know what I would have done if things had been worse for you.”

  
A bandaged hand reaches out to Kenma from under the blanket and rests on Kenma’s cheek. Kenma doesn’t stop his head from almost nuzzling into it. “Things aren’t worse for me, though.” Realistic and to the point. As always. Something Kenma’s never been, to be honest, as well as he’s able to hide it from the general public. “I’m okay, and you’re fine, too. What happened to you, by the way?”

  
“Uh, fractured ribs, leg injury, but it’s minor other than that.”

  
“Ha! _Broken_ ribs, a torn ligament, mild internal bleeding and a dislocated knee,” Kuroo says, in the most on-brand tone.

  
Kenma shakes his head. “Are you trying to fucking one up me right now?”

  
“Yes.”

  
“Why are you like this.”

  
Kuroo’s still smiling. _How does he do that?_ “You love me.”

  
“Fat chance,” Kenma says.

  
“You love me.”

  
“Fake news.”

  
“You love me,” Kuroo repeats, showing no sign of surrender.

  
Kenma doesn’t respond, instead putting his own hand on Kuroo’s one still holding his face.

  
“So you do get Bad Choice Points for riding with me, huh?” Kuroo says, an odd sincerity in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  
“What are you sorry about?” Kenma asks.

  
Kuroo shrugs. Shifting in his wheelchair, Kenma recalls his thoughts from earlier. He thinks about him and Kuroo ten years ago, in two different galaxies altogether. Them now, their worlds one and the same. When they’re together, they’re unstoppable, the best versions of themselves. And they’re never going to find that anywhere else, the feeling of such a delicious kind of exclusivity. In an untouchable pocket of time and space with one another. Looking the other boy in the eyes, he shakes his head and makes up his mind.

  
“You know, being next to you—anywhere, anytime—is probably one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.”

  
Kuroo opens his mouth to speak.

  
“Sure, things might have been different if we hadn’t gone on that drive, but,” Kenma lets the words spill, “doesn’t that go for anything? The littlest difference in your dad’s job, the littlest difference in our choice in schools, and I never would have had you in the first place. That is the worst thought in the world to me right now. And who cares how we are right now, at least I still have you.”

  
“…Kenma,” he says, so softly it’s not fair to Kenma’s heart.

  
“There’s a million possibilities in the world at any given second.” His eyes are glistening, welling up with tears of an emotion he has no idea how to label and doesn’t really want to. “Even if I hadn’t been with you, you might’ve taken that route anyway, and then you’d be hurt, and _alone_ , and I would have felt guilty for not having been with you.” He reaches up and wipes at his eyes before hot tears spill over. “The better choice would always, and Kuro, I mean _always_ , involve being next to you. You are the best choice I’ve ever fucking made, and I couldn’t imagine considering anyone else. I think you were right. I think love _is_ a choice, and Kuroo Tetsurou, you’re the one I made.”

  
Kuroo hasn’t closed his mouth yet. “Oh.” His voice is even softer, if possible. “I choose you too, Pikachu.”

  
The corners of Kenma’s mouth tilt upwards involuntarily. “Shut up.” He forces a pout. “I hate you.”

  
“Did I hallucinate the whole last minute then?” Kuroo pulls his hand away from Kenma’s cheek, rubbing at his own eyes. “I love you.”

  
“I love you too,” Kenma mumbles back. “When are you being let out?”

  
“No idea.”

  
“Okay.” Kenma leans forward and puts his head on Kuroo’s chest lightly.

  
“You’re alright. I’m alright.” Kuroo whispers. “We’re fine.”

  
“Yeah.”

  
Kenma meant it when he said he would choose Kuroo every time. Nothing beat the feeling of his solid warmth smothering Kenma like sinking into your pillow after a long day. Bad analogy, actually. Sleep was fickle—Kuroo was anything but. He was constant, and dependable, and Kenma chose to keep things that way. As if any other option would ever cross his mind. He buries his face into Kuroo’s frame, careful not to press on his injured ribs. And Kuroo buries his thoughts into Kenma’s mind, talking as if nothing had happened and they were still on that blissful car ride, in a pocket of time untouchable by anything else. Kozume Kenma has Kuroo Tetsurou. Truly _has_ him.

**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading this if u did 😳👉🏼👈🏼  
> //  
> the title is a lyric from zella day’s ‘hunnie pie’. it’s a v cute song and it always reminds me of kuroken.  
> i’ve been wanting to write smth like this for a very, very long time and i love writing for these 2 very much so they were the obvious option. even tho i’ve been using ao3 for literal years this is the first time i’ve put anything up here lolol.  
> anyway follow my twitters @jetsportsummers n @nekomaverse <3 !!


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